


The Art of Finding Yourself

by white_blank_page



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-26 05:33:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2639951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_blank_page/pseuds/white_blank_page
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto Jones groaned, rolling over and slapping his alarm clock.<br/>He bustled about his flat, preparing his morning coffee and readying himself for a day at the office. He told himself that it was just a dream, that he was normal, that the unwrinkled space next to his in the bed didn’t bother him.<br/>Only the box of fake passports underneath his bed and the scar across his chest bore witness to the truth.<br/>(An Assasin!Ianto fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lonely Hearts Club

**Author's Note:**

> Always wanted to so an Assasin!Ianto fic. Here's the first part:) More to come. Eventually. Promise. (If I get enough kudos...hehehe)

***************  
“Alright, Tristan. Two choices,” a disembodied voice announced, it’s melodic strains echoing back through the damp air. It paused, clearly waiting for him to bite.  
He shuffled uncomfortably, trying to catch even the smallest glimpse of his surroundings through the burlap sack that cloaked his world in scratchy shades of black.  
“Well, go on then,” he said with feigned impatience. The air was humid and his breath only served to thicken the sticky heat as it struggled to find a way through the rough cloth.  
He waited, listening to the sound of his own heartbeat as his captor made a slow circle around his chair. The footfalls echoed in a way that spoke of total relaxation.  
“Number one,” the voice said, words lazily dripping from lips like a sickly-sweet glob of honey from a spoon. “You tell me who you really are and who you’re working for. Tell me everything they know about us.”  
“And number two?” he asked. He relaxed his hands where they were tied behind his back, then began to discretely work them loose. “I’m betting it won’t be pretty.”  
“Aren’t you a cheeky one?” the voice commented with genuine amusement before dropping back into its sadistically sweet drawl. “And how right you are.” A smooth snick signalled the appearance of a knife on the scene.  
The footsteps came closer, pausing just in front of him.  
He stiffened, bracing his muscles for the first cut. He had no idea where it would fall, and he felt his heart speed in a surge of uncertainty.  
A breath ghosted across his bare chest.  
The knife met the line of his collarbone, dull side pressed against his skin. He couldn’t hold back a gasp.  
The smooth metal began tracing his musculature gently, following the natural lines of his body and raising chill bumps in its wake.  
“Last chance,” his captor whispered near his ear, startling him with her closeness.  
His hands were still tied. He needed time, and he needed to be clear headed.  
“I’ll trade you,” he breathed. “Information about me and my organization for information about you.”  
“Now, why would you want to know about little old me?” she asked, trailing the knife along his exposed hip bones.  
“Because I’ve never heard such a beautiful voice before,” he said, realizing with more than a hint of self-loathing that it was true. “It’s only natural I should want to know more about its owner.”  
The knife bit into his chest, slowly dragging from the middle to the far left, where it finally pulled free. He felt the blood running in hot trails across his cold skin. It was hardly the worst he’d endured, but he still couldn’t help the hiss of pain that escaped.  
“Okay, Tristan. I’ll play your game,” she whispered. He heard the knife click back into its sheath and breathed a sigh of relief.  
“Jones,” he stated. “That’s my real name. Jones.”  
He waited.  
“Hallett,” came the reply.  
He smiled underneath his burlap sack.  
“Nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Hallett.”  
Just then, a faint beeping sounded. It grew in volume, causing him to look around wildly.  
“No, no this isn’t what’s supposed to happen,” he said, feeling his consciousness slowly slipping upwards.  
“Please let me stay,” he whispered, but it was too late; he was already aware of his body laying horizontal and wrapped in sheets. In bed, alone.  
Ianto Jones groaned, rolling over and slapping his alarm clock.  
He bustled about his flat, preparing his morning coffee and readying himself for a day at the office. He told himself that it was just a dream, that he was normal, that the unwrinkled space next to his in the bed didn’t bother him.  
Only the box of fake passports underneath his bed and the scar across his chest bore witness to the truth. 

****************  
Ianto let himself into the hub. Other than Jack, he was the first one here. He was always first--not that the others would notice if he even showed up. If fading into the background was an artform, Ianto was a master. Have to be, in my line of work, he thought, only to stop in his tracks.  
It wasn’t his line of work--not now, at least.  
Not since Lisa.  
Lisa…  
The team had found her--what was left, anyway-- only a month ago. This would be his first day back, and he knew he would be doing it on autopilot. He felt as if his lifeline to the rest of the world had been cut. Now, here he was, drifting through space with nothing to keep him connected, stable. He continued to go through the motions, but he knew there was nothing holding him here anymore. He would run soon. He could feel it building in the back of his mind, the need to escape this life, this pain. He would run and never look back; start over somewhere new and as someone else. Maybe the CIA could use some help. America could be nice, he thought. But not now. I need to mourn her properly, she deserves that, at least. Besides, the others will be watching for at least a month yet.  
And so Ianto Jones made coffee and avoided the pitying stares of his teammates. He continued as he had before, stubbornly ignoring the growing itch of an expired identity.  
***********

“Ianto,” Jack called through the open door of his office. Ianto felt his stomach drop. It had been a week since he resumed work and so far everyone had just ignored him. He had been fine with the new arrangement; had actually enjoyed it--as much as he could enjoy things now, post-Lisa.  
It’s probably really bad that I think of things as post-Lisa. Probably also really bad that I can’t bring myself to care. Maybe I should start a list of Probably Bad Things.  
“Ianto!” Jack yelled, breaking in on his thoughts. Ianto sighed deeply, squared his shoulders, and started his march through the hub. He felt prying eyes follow him all the way there.  
It seemed that the days of being ignored had come to an end.  
Time to move on, part of him whispered. He almost agreed with it. Almost.  
“Ianto, we need to talk,” Jack motioned to the chair opposite his. Ianto dropped into it, waiting for Jack to start the conversation. There was no way Ianto was going to help him out on this one.  
Jack took his time, his eyes roving over Ianto in a calculating way.  
“Ianto...how are you?” he asked finally, his voice much quieter than Ianto had expected.  
“As fine as I can be, Sir,” he replied.  
“No, really.”  
Ianto’s brow creased.  
“Really, Sir, I won’t deny I miss her--”  
Jack’s hand slammed down on the table, startling Ianto into silence.  
“Dammit, Ianto! There’s a person hiding somewhere in that suit, you showed that much by trying to save Lisa! Look, I’m sorry I didn’t make the effort before, but I’m trying my damn hardest now. I want...I need to get to know you. None of this blank-faced yes-man shit.”  
Ianto blinked in surprise. Jack wanted to get to know him. What was he supposed to do now? He searched for something to say, something that would pacify his boss. He came up blank.  
“What do you want from me?” he asked finally, and now his voice was the quiet one.  
“I want to know who I let serve me coffee every day. I want to know who I let into my hub, who I let near my team. You serve us food, for god’s sake! I want to know who the hell you are, Ianto Jones!”  
Ianto felt anger bubbling to the surface, the anger he had locked away for so long after Lisa’s death. Normally, he would have been able to keep it safely sealed behind the persona he wore like a mask. But recently his second skin had been wearing thin. It had been too long, he had been too invested in this mission. The hot feeling came leaking out, staining his features in their first show of emotion in over a month.  
“Now you want to know. It takes me almost killing you and your team for you to even think twice about Ianto Jones. Invisible until he’s a threat, is that how it works?” Jack flinched at Ianto’s words, made all the worse by the fact that they were spoken with only traces of emotion.  
“But that’s not even the bad part,” Ianto narrowed his eyes, leaning back and regarding Jack coldly.  
“No, the worst is that you still don’t care, not really. I lost my entire world that day, Jack. There’s nothing keeping me here, not with her gone. You want to know how I’m doing? What if I told you I’m not doing anything--not fine, or okay, or even bad. I’m just existing.” Jack’s eyes widened in alarm and Ianto pounced on the movement, beginning his strange, monotone tirade anew.  
“See, you really don’t want to know ‘how I’m doing’. What you do want to know is if I am still a threat to you or your precious team. So save me the glittering generalities, Jack. I don’t need you pretending to care. I’m not going to hurt anyone else, you have my word.” And with that, Ianto rose from his chair, straightened his tie, and left.  
It was only much later that he realized he wasn’t angry at Jack at all. How could he be? He didn’t know who the hell he was either. 

 

“Oi! Tea boy!” The exclamation startled Ianto and woke him from his slumber.  
“Yes, Owen?” he answered quickly, scrambling to hide his cat-nap from the rest of the team.  
“Get your lazy arse down here, I need help with this autopsy. That is, unless you have something more important to do.”  
Can’t hide anything around here, he grumbled mentally.  
Ianto tapped his comm, “Sure thing, Owen.”  
He set off at a brisk pace through the hub, trying to make up for dozing off on the job earlier. He still couldn’t shake the on-edge sensation the dreams of his former life always left him with, and it was making him jumpy.  
The sooner I can go home, the better, he thought, descending the stairs to the autopsy bay.  
He froze halfway down, however, when he noticed the empty table.  
“Owen?” he called cautiously, his already heightened senses easily crossing the line into red-alert.  
He descended the stairs at the most normal pace he could muster, then crossed slowly to the instrument tray. He leaned back against it, trying to appear as if he were just waiting for his teammate.  
“Owen?” he called again, sliding his hand backwards, slowly, slowly.  
“Ianto?” Owen appeared at the top of the steps, his hands gloved and held out in a placating gesture.  
Ianto’s hand found a scalpel and he slid it into his sleeve.  
“Owen, what’s going on?” he asked, standing and moving towards the doctor. Suddenly, he heard a gun cock.  
Ianto raised his hands, slowly turning his head. Blue eyes met blue, and Ianto once again found himself staring down the barrel of Jack’s gun.  
“Jack,” Ianto spoke calmly and quietly. “You really don’t want to do this.”  
“Oh, but I think I do,” Jack said, his body shifting into a fighting stance.  
Gwen appeared at the top of the autopsy bay, her gun also trained on Ianto.  
“Jack, what’s this about?” Ianto said, eying Gwen. Ianto could feel the paranoia chafing under his skin; he’d had too many major stressors in such a short period to keep his cool much longer. He needed this to de-escalate, and quickly. Apparently Owen was the only one to notice the desperation in his eyes.  
“Ianto, mate, calm down. You’ve just been showing up funny on the monitors. Probably nothing, but we just need to be sure,” the doctor said soothingly. And Ianto would’ve been soothed, if not for the fact that Jack picked this moment to attack.  
In a flash, Ianto’s carefully maintained walls dropped. Jack rushed him, and Ianto ducked low, sending Jack toppling over his back and onto the floor. He rolled to Jack’s side, smoothly flicking his wrist and sending the scalpel hurtling through the air. It hit Gwen’s hand, causing her to drop her gun. He punched Jack in the face, then took his gun and stood in one smooth motion. He trained the gun on Owen, the only unhurt and therefore most dangerous of his opponents.  
“Everyone, stop moving,” Ianto spoke calmly and authoritatively. “Do not try to..” just then, something stung the back of Ianto’s neck. He frowned, bringing his free hand up to feel…  
Oh, shit, he thought. Then he toppled to the floor, a tranquilizer dart buried in the back of his neck.


	2. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The short, sweet end.

“What do you mean there’s nothing wrong with him!” Jack thundered, pacing the floor of the hub in exasperation.   
“I mean,” Owen said, “there’s nothing wrong with him. That weird reading was coming from a bit of radioactive sludge on his shouse. I’ve cleaned it up, now he’s back to normal.”   
“But...but you saw what he did, you all saw. There’s gotta be some alien, some parasite that’s taken over his brain…”  
“Jack…” Owen glanced toward the autopsy bay, where Ianto was still out cold. He shuffled closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially.   
“...just how much do we know about Ianto Jones?”   
Eyes snapped to Owen; even Jack stopped pacing.   
“I mean, really. Other than Lisa, has he ever mentioned his family to anyone? Friends? Even a hobby? What does he do outside of work, anyone know?”   
The team stared at Owen, dumbfounded.   
Slowly, Jack’s stare moved to the unconscious figure in the autopsy bay.   
“Tosh,” He said suddenly, “start a background check on Ianto. Look for...look for possible forgeries.” Tosh nodded.  
“Gwen, Owen…help me get him down to the interrogation room.”  
*************  
Ianto woke up tied to a chair. Not necessarily a foreign situation, but a rather uncomfortable one. It’s murder on the back, he thought dryly.   
“Excuse me,” he said aloud, “I’ve got a massive headache from that tranq. Wouldn’t mind some aspirin. And some water.” Then, for lack of anything better to do, he started counting.   
574 seconds later, Jack swept into the room. He deposited Ianto’s aspirin and glass on the table, the continued walking a few paces. He rested a hand on the far wall.  
Ianto cleared his throat. “Jack, I’m a little tied up right now, think you could give me a hand with those meds?” He sincerely hoped someone, somewhere, appreciated his wit.   
Jack stiffened visibly. Ianto immediately regretted his callousness. Stupid, he’s just found his...friend/work colleague... has been lying to him for months.   
“I...um...what I mean, is, could you--” Ianto stopped talking as Jack whirled around. He stalked to the table, grabbed the pills, and deposited them in Ianto’s mouth--all the while avoiding eye contact. Ianto dry-swallowed the pills.  
He knew how these things worked. Ianto sighed gustily, then resigned himself to wait until Jack was ready.   
It took at least ten solid minutes.   
“Who are you?” Jack bit out suddenly, the words like glass shards in the strained silence.   
“Jack, it’s me--”   
“No,” Jack said, voice colored dark with anger--then, quieter, something different, something Ianto couldn’t place.  
“No.”  
Ianto waited.   
“We found that box. The one under your bed. God, whoever you are, you’re good, because that’s the only thing we found. Tosh--Tosh ran every test she could. It all checked out. So, I’ll say it again, who are you?”   
Jack finally, finally looked at him. His eyes were dangerous, but not with anger. It was...something else…  
The realization hit Ianto like a wrecking ball.  
He’s hurt. Really, genuinely hurt. Because of me. But even the thought of opening up to someone set his teeth on edge; too much vulnerability.   
“Jack, I don’t tell anyone about myself,” Ianto said. “Surely you can appreciate secret keeping?”  
There was a pause.   
“You’ve never told anyone the truth?” Jack asked skeptically.   
Ianto’s hesitation was answer enough.  
“Lisa was the only one,” he finally said.   
“So that, at least, was real,” Jack said.   
Ianto heard the bitterness, the doubt in that statement.  
“I’ll tell you what, let’s play a game. I’ll tell you about myself, if you tell me about you,” the words were out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying. When they registered, pain rolled through him. Lisa. Now he’d gone and re-used their game with someone else, just a month and a half after she...after she died. No, I can’t, I have to take it back….  
But as soon as he opened his mouth Jack spoke.  
“Deal.”

Some moments echo with importance so profound that it can be felt throughout the body. This was one of them. Ianto Jones felt the echo; he knew that this moment, here, was some sort of turning point. He looked at Jack, and saw the hurt in his eyes, and thought: maybe I can stay here. Some part of him knew there would be no going back to his life before Lisa; she had changed him too much for that. Maybe this, here, could be his starting point. Maybe, with time, this could even be home.


End file.
